


In Waves

by foggynelson



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:31:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4702754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foggynelson/pseuds/foggynelson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Invited to a event by the French ambassador, Illya needs to practice his dancing. Not wanting to dance with Gaby again, Illya asks Napoleon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Waves

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt giving by an anon on tumblr:  
>  _Napoleon/Illya slow-dancing leads to sexy time_

“Tell me again why you couldn’t ask Gaby to dance with you?” Napoleon questions, looking up at Illya. They’re so close, closer than they’ve ever been before. It’s a cool night after a long day. The mission is coming along well. Illya has successfully secured an invitation to an event tomorrow as requested by the French ambassador. 

“Last time she hit me across the face twice before tackling me to the ground, remember?” Illya replies.

“Of course I remember,” Napoleon says, laughing. “I just wanted to hear you say it again. I wish I could have seen it. Gaby can be pretty brutal.”

“You have no idea,” Illya responds. “Even her kissing is a little rough.”

“And what - your kisses are just so soft and gentle?” Napoleon counters. He means this as a joke, light, but Illya is so close to him, their faces inches away and… it doesn’t feel like a joke anymore. It doesn’t feel like a joke when Illya leans down until their mouths are right there - right about to touch.

It’s far from a joke when Napoleon closes the gap. Their lips just touch, light, sweet. Illya is soft and gentle. He reaches up and cradles Napoleon’s face before putting his tongue in the other’s mouth which traces the inside of Napoleon’s mouth. Illya’s breath tastes harsh but sweet as it fills Napoleon, giving him life. 

Napoleon closes his eyes, lost. His hand sides up Illya’s neck and he runs his fingers through the Russian’s hair (which, of course, is also soft). And this goes on for minutes, Illya and Napoleon, locked. Napoleon doesn’t know where to go from here. He knows what he would do if Illya was anyone else. But Illya isn’t just some random he picked up while on a mission. Illya is important. Illya matters. 

They break and Illya steps back, his hands running down Napoleon’s arms before he lets him go. “I need some water.” Napoleon nods and watches as his partner goes. He swears softly to himself. Kissing Illya was obviously a mistake. Napoleon was so sure he had read the signs right - why else would Illya put his mouth so close his? Why else would Illya have kissed him back so fervently?

A few minutes later, Illya is back and hands Napoleon a scotch. “It’s good to take a break. Too much dancing,” Illya comments. Napoleon wonders if he’s going to say anything about what’s happened. He wonders if he should say something about what’s happened. Instead Napoleon drinks the scotch, small sips as watches Illya and waits for him to speak - to say anything, really.

Napoleon opens his mouth multiple times, ready to say something, but instead of words, only air comes out. No doubt there is something perfect for him to say but Napoleon doesn’t know what that is mainly because he can’t read Illya. Illya is strange when it comes to his emotions. There are times - namely when he is angry - that Napoleon can feel the emotions emanating off him. Yet there are other times where there is simply a void, where Illya seems blank and Napoleon is currently stuck with the latter.

“We should practice more,” Illya says a few minutes later, his glass empty. Napoleon has only drank half of his and quickly swallows the rest before standing up. Illya reaches out and grabs Napoleon and Napoleon feels something. He can’t place what it is - he can’t place if it’s something he’s feeling or something he’s reading from Illya. But the feeling is nice - even nicer as Illya grabs hold of Napoleon’s lower back and pulls him in close.

They don’t talk as they dance. The music in the background is nice but the current song is a bit too upbeat for the dance but Napoleon doesn’t comment. It was one of two records that Gaby had and the other was some rock band he had never heard of before. This is still soft and, honestly, romantic if Napoleon lets himself think it.

Illya is a good dancer, which surprises Napoleon. He leads Napoleon along well and despite the music being too fast, Illya’s moves seem to flow along perfectly with it. And as the song reaches it’s climax, Illya dips Napoleon, leaning down and their faces are so close again and it takes all of Napoleon’s willpower to not kiss him again. But he doesn’t - he doesn’t want to make things more awkward. He doesn’t want to do anything as he’s unsure of what exactly Illya wants from him.

“Not going to kiss me this time?” Illya questions. He’s still dipping Napoleon, who wonders how long the other will be able to hold him for. Illya smiles as he speaks and Napoleon opens his mouth to answer (saying what, he doesn’t know) but instead of words there is only Illya’s mouth on his own once again.

Napoleon isn’t sure who started the kissing. It just seemed to happen, the two magnets, pulled together with no choice. Not that Napoleon is complaining in anyway. Illya pulls him upright without the kiss breaking. Kissing Illya feels so good, so right, especially as Illya bites Napoleon’s lip, hard, and Napoleon groans. 

At this point, this kiss stops being soft and gentle. It’s rough, passionate, the two wanting as much of the other as they can receive. There’s something about the two of them being together that feels right. Napoleon feels at peace there, his hand riding up the back of Illya’s shirt, his other hand running through Illya’s hair, lightly pulling on it.

Illya proceeds to lift Napoleon off the floor, holding him tight, and walks with him over to Napoleon’s bed. There are papers scattered across it but Illya doesn’t pay any attention and instead drops Napoleon onto causing him to groan. “Be careful, Peril. There’s no need to break me in half.” Illya just smirks in response. 

Reaching down, Illya unbuttons Napoleon’s top, going painfully slow. He peels the top off the American before reaching out and running his hands down Napoleon’s chest. His touch is light at first but soon Illya is scratching at his skin, his fingernails digging in deep. Napoleon wonders if there are going to be marks and secretly hopes there will be.

It’s not long before Illya is pulling off Napoleon’s pants all while his mouth is nibbling on his neck, Napoleon moaning at his touches. Everything feels good. Illya is rough but Napoleon feels softness behind each of his touches (even when Illya bites down on Napoleon’s nipple). 

Illya throws Napoleon’s pants aside and jumps onto the bed with him, crouching above him. They stare at each other for a moment, just looking. Napoleon tries to read everything this is Illya, try to understand what exactly the other is feeling. And there is something, Napoleon can feel things radiating from Illya, but he can’t place them all. But the feelings are good ones, that he can tell. (It’s even clearer when Illya smiles before leaning down and kissing Napoleon again.)

Napoleon lifts his head up, bring himself close to Illya. He reaches and does the best to undo Illya’s top while not breaking the kiss. With Illya’s shirt off, Napoleon breaks the kiss and focuses his lips elsewhere - namely all around Illya’s chest and stomach. Illya moans, the sound sweet as it rings in Napoleon’s ears. 

Using as much strength as he has, Napoleon pushes against Illya’s chest until he’s the one lying on the bed with Napoleon atop him. Napoleon finds he can’t stop smiling as he looks down at Illya beneath him, eyes closed, mouth agape. Leaning down, Napoleon kisses along the side of his face and then all across his neck, the kisses sloppy, Napoleon biting the base of his neck.

Slowly, Napoleon’s mouth makes it’s way down Illya’s exposed skin. Napoleon undoes Illya’s buckle and begins to push his pants off. At this point, his head is down at the base of Illya’s stomach, Napoleon tongue licking around the edge of Illya’s underwear before he reaches up and pulls those off as well. 

Napoleon stands up for a moment to better position himself and to remove his own underwear. He smiles. He would have never imagined this happening. (Okay, that’s a lie. He has imagined this a few times, but never actually thought it would have happened.) A small part of him feels bad over the whole thing. It would be bad for things to become awkward between them. He can’t imagine their partnership ending any time soon and the last thing Napoleon wants is for sex to come in between them.

Because when it came down to it, Napoleon cares for Illya a lot. He’s a great spy, honestly, always working harder than is needed. He’s strong and intense but Napoleon knows that Illya cares deeply about him and Gaby and there is little he wouldn’t do for them. 

Hearing Illya groan, Napoleon looks down at him and finds the other asleep. Napoleon isn’t sure when this happened. He was only standing there thinking for about a minute. What kind of person falls asleep during sex? What kind of person falls asleep during sex with Napoleon Solo? Napoleon lets out a long sigh.

Not wanting to wake Illya, he walks around to the other side of the bed. He does his best to clear any remaining papers and then proceeds to lightly push Illya aside, lifting his head up and putting a pillow beneath him. Napoleon then lies down next to him. It has been a long day, he thinks, and it’s more than understandable that Illya is tired.

Napoleon watches him sleep. It’s odd seeing him so still and so peaceful, but it’s nice. Napoleon watches him and can’t help but think how absolutely beautiful Illya is, his face soft, relaxed. 

“You’re lucky I like you so much,” Napoleon mutters to himself. “Otherwise I’d be pretty upset with you right now.” He smiles, knowing that Illya can’t hear him. Which is good. He doesn’t want Illya to know how much he likes him. But it’s a lot. It really is. More than Napoleon has ever liked anyone, honestly. But it’s not something he’ll say again - something he’d never say to a wake Illya. 

Closing his eyes, Napoleon can’t help but hope that there’s at least a part of Illya that feels the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat with me on [tumblr](http://bpdkuryakin.tumblr.com/). Shoutout to [kbgcowboy](http://kgbcowboy.tumblr.com) and [napolecnsolo](http://napolecnsolo.tumblr.com/) for all the help!


End file.
